


Wild Things

by DandylionPuff



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Banter, F/M, Just a bunch of soft kink strung together by a loose plot, Possessive Behavior, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:41:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28364823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DandylionPuff/pseuds/DandylionPuff
Summary: A Post Tros Hux lives fic. Hux has found something he wants more than anything and he’ll gladly trade half the galaxy to get her.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Rose Tico
Comments: 7
Kudos: 28
Collections: Gingerose Holiday Exchange 2020: Secret Spy





	1. Frosted and Feral

**Author's Note:**

> For the lovely Utopia as part of the GingerRose Discord Secret Spy Holiday Fic Exchange. I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope you enjoy it Utopia. I did my best to fill all your jars as best I could. 
> 
> This fic is nsfw so please keep that in mind readers. Also it contains some relationships dynamics that might not be the healthiest thing ever but it’s not the worst so unclench your pearls please. I can’t write happy sunshine canon compliance Hux/Rose.
> 
> The current formatting is not final. I will be editing it later.

Rabid cur-that was what they had called him. How wrong they were. There was no haze in his piercingly clear eyes as they gazed at her across the table. No foam dripping from his velvet soft lips. No sickness or infection. Just a deadly intensity that froze her where she stood. A dangerous sharpness like the feral dogs lurking the industrial streets of lower Coruscant. Mean, predatory survivors—wild things once tame. Feral was the perfect word for him.  
The cuffs clatter to the floor as they fall from her wrists. Her gaze darts around the room but finds no escape. That was the main problem with Imperialist design. You could never tell where the damn doors were. She lets her eyes close. She’d rather risk appearing vulnerable than guarantee it by meeting his gaze. They rattle her-those eyes of his.  
He knows this and laughs. A guttural breath of air he keeps to himself. She feels rather than sees the dramatic gesture he makes. She knows his part by heart. A wave of the hand. It always is.  
“Commander Tico, sit, please.”  
She does. Not because she wants to but because the trooper behind her shoves her into the seat. It’s always been his style. The genteel brutality.  
He smiles slimly, approvingly, at his faceless subordinate, “A little privacy if you don’t mind….”  
The trooper nods and turns to leave. A door slides open and shut. She tries not to stare. She holds the spot in her peripherals until he clears his throat. A porcelain plate slides across the table between them. The decadent soft looking confection heaped on top of it shivers as she stares at the offering. Haysian Dew Cake. Her favorite. Her mouth wets. She tries not to swallow.  
“You must be hungry,” He offers.  
Her stomach growls. She ignores the betrayal and pushes the slice away with a sneer,  
“It’s a bit early for celebration isn’t it General?” It’s the wrong title. He hasn’t been a general for over a year.  
He corrects her automatically. It’s a reflex she’s come to rely on.  
“Grand Marshall.”  
She smirks, “Congratulation on your coup.”  
He simpers, a feint, “Thank you.”  
She feigns relaxation as she thinks. Grand Marshall. She can’t think of anything higher. At least not anymore. The title of Supreme Leader once maybe but that title has long vanished with the man who held it and the girl who loved him-her friend. She tries not to think about Rey. Focuses on the information she’s just gleaned. Grand Marshall—That means he’s risen to the top. Which makes him much more dangerous. She allows herself a glance at the man in front of her. A mistake. It’s impossible not to look. To limit herself to a mere sip when her eyes want to drink.  
He wears his hair looser now. It falls over his brow in liquid waves, amber gold like Correllian whiskey. Gold flecked eyelashes flutter over razor sharp cheek bones. His ice pale skin flushed with hints of petal soft color. The beauty of him angers her. How cruelty can come in such an elegant package.  
It’s his eyes that hold the true power over her. In the way that he looks at her. There’s a faint glimmer of tantalizing sweetness in the ice green storm that she hungers for. It makes her mouth water whenever she finds it. It’s there now.  
“Command--”  
“Why am I here Hux?” She doesn’t bother to use his new title. He doesn’t deserve it.  
His eyes soften sadly, almost genuinely, as he crosses to the bar built into the wall. All the officer’s spaces have them. You must need ample lubrication to commit atrocities. He pours himself a glass of amber liquid.  
“How long has it been?” He asks staring down at the glass half full.  
She does the mental math. It’s hard to tell in captivity, “Two days?”  
He takes a sip and shakes his head disappointedly, “That’s not what I meant.”  
Oh…Her cheeks flush as her brain hyper-drives through the memories. The blip of a com alert. Whispered intel and the rush of adrenaline. The warmth of strong arms holding her close. The scratch of stubble against her cheek. The surprise of a farewell kiss. The sorrow of saying goodbye. She doesn’t want to remember.  
“I don’t keep track of liars,” She whispers.  
He sets the glass down a little too forcefully. A splash of liquid dashes across the wood grain. He turns towards her. All gentleness gone.  
“I didn’t lie,” He hisses as he abandons his drink to stalk toward her. “I came back for you,” The words are a growl low in his throat. His eyes are once again feral. Let him snarl. She’ll not be intimidated.  
“This?” She spits, gesturing to the cuffs on the floor, “is kidnapping; there’s a difference.”  
He flinches. She’s wounded him with the truth. She is good at that, at poking holes in the elaborate tales he’s woven for himself. He likes to tell stories. He likes to lie-even to himself.  
He is pacing now. He smooths his hair back. It’s an old gesture from before.  
“You don’t understand anything do you?” He practically lunges into her space. He upon her that fast. Arms pinning her to the chair. She swallows a gasp. His face is inches from her own. He’s breathing hard and a little desperate like he did a year ago. Eyes target locked on her lips like he’s going to kiss her, the way he had before-before they had run out of time. Before he had lied.  
He collects himself but doesn’t retreat. He draws in a shaky breath, “You don’t understand anything.”  
He sounds wounded.  
Her heart breaks. It always does for him. She can’t help it. She’s always had a soft spot for wild things. She raises a hand to meet his cheek. His eyes flutter close at the touch.  
He leans into her, “You know not the hold you have over me,” The words are a dangerous silky vibrato that vibrates in her ear and pools uncomfortably in her belly. His forehead touches her own, “You could have me eating from the palm of your hand,” He whispers.  
She wants to believe him but he’s done this to her before. Whispered things he doesn’t mean. Played tame before biting her hand. She shoves him off her. Uses the momentum to force him on his knees. She doesn’t notice the excited flash in his bewildered eyes as she does. She grabs a handful of cake and holds the fistful to his lips.  
“Then eat,” she commands. She can be feral too.  
He stares at her frosting coated fingers hungrily a moment before raising a leather gloved hand to curl delicately around her wrist. His gaze flits to meet her own. He studies her a moment looking for something she refuses to give him. At least not yet. Not until he obeys. Not until he’s tame.  
He doesn’t pull at her. A second hand gently unfurls the fist that is nestled in the first. He leans in to take her ring finger in between his teeth and sucks. She braces herself against the chair as her knees buckle.  
He lets her sit down before he continues. Settles himself between her legs, elbows propped lazily on her thighs as he eats. He is slow to savor her letting his lips linger. His teeth scrape gently against her skin. His tongue lapping in tantalizing feather soft strokes. His gloved hands never leaving her own. She endures it as long as she can but it’s too much. She needs to breathe.  
She starts to pull her hand away. The delicate grip turns iron. She frowns.  
“That’s enough.” The grip remains a moment too long, she can feel her pulse pounding against the leather, before he releases her.  
“Hardly,” he drawls.  
She rubs her wrist and scowls down at him. His face is languid, content, like he belongs at her feet.  
Temptation strikes and she dips a hand into the plush pile of his hair. His breath catches startled. He tenses against her thighs before relaxing as she begins to stroke. His hair is so much softer than he’ll ever be.  
“You can’t keep doing this,” she sighs.  
He lets his head rest on her knee with a huff, “I can.”  
She tries again, “I won’t keep doing this.”  
This time he is silent.  
She tries to keep her voice from shaking, “Next time you’ll have to kill me.”  
“No.” His answer is immediate. Absolute.  
“Then come back to me Armitage,” the words ghost from her lips before she can stop them.  
He is still against her thinking. She lets him and tries to ignore the lump forming in her throat.  
“You make it sound so simple,” his voice is tired and laced with frustration.  
That’s because it is, she thinks but she doesn’t say it. He already knows what she wants. It’s what he wants from her too. Total surrender.  
He untangles himself from her lap and rises. Picks the cuffs off the floor and lingers to look at her a moment before opening the pneumatic doors.  
“You’ll be the death of me,” he mutters before disappearing behind them.


	2. Armistice

She is escorted back to his quarters. He said nothing to the trooper accompanying her. He has been letting the rumors fly freely across the brig. They hardly matter. She’s not his prisoner. He refuses to treat her as such.   
He sweeps the room as he enters. Officers flinch to attention as he passes. Including the ones flickering on the screens around him. Each and every one of them loyal to him. Whether out of fear or respect he knows not. That hardly matters anymore. All that matters is that they will follow him into this unknown.  
He stands to his full height. Parade rest like he does when he makes his speeches. He will make one now.   
“I intend to propose an armistice.”  
He lets the room buzz for a moment. It’s a shocking proposal. The First Order seeking anything less than total dominance. It’s practically heretical.   
He silences the room with a raised hand. He gestures towards the screens. They flicker to life with charts and data. The more intelligent and diplomatic officers among them have already caught on. Their eyes widen with surprise but also with an emotion rarely seen amongst his fleet. Real genuine hope.   
“I believe this is the most effective use of our resources.” He pauses for effect. Months of scheming and calculations are riding on his performance. He’s betting it all on their reception. Walking the flimsy tightrope of their emotions towards his goal. He lets the weight of his words balance into the room around him. He lets the words sink in as his officers scan the screens. Admiral Wilshire is already nodding at the financials. They’ve run up a huge deficit. He’s thought of that. He suppresses a grin and paces, explaining the outline, answering questions, before drawing towards the more blood thirsty half of the room. They are chafing. They are always the last to understand.  
He places his hand on the console in front of them. Rearranges his face and feints empathy, “Some of you will be disappointed to have brought order to merely half of the galaxy,” he states. It works, a few nod, all poised with rapt attention.   
“We have tried the rod and have been met with resistance,” he continues. His voice booms throughout the room. His increase in volume has the desired effect. He has solidified his authority, “it is time for a display of soft power. It is time to coax—to lure our detractors into the palm of our hand.” He allows himself a fraction of a grin.. The line is like many in his speeches-an inside joke known only to him.   
He moves to the center with long strides for the finishing blow.   
“Through war we have brought order to half the galaxy. Now we will secure the other half through peace!”  
The room erupts. His ears thunder with applause. Those present stand. He lets the sound wash over him.   
It’s a sweet sound. He runs a tongue over his lips and thinks of something far sweeter as he savors it.   
Hours later he drags himself back to his quarters. He’s exhausted but satisfied. The armistice is unanimously approved. No small feat. He punches the access code into the door and shrugs his great coat off into a chair. He’s loosening the collar of his shirt when he sees her.   
She’s fast asleep on his couch. A mouse droid sits partially dismantled on the caf table. Her fingers are covered in grease and she is beautiful. He resists the urge to scoop her into his arms and have her in his bed. He’ll need her help in the morning and it will delay everything if she wakes up affronted. He is not a patient man but he can delay gratification for a night.   
Is it cruel of him to keep her here in his room caged like an exotic bird? Will it further clip her wings—the plan he has for the both of them? He tries not to think of it. He gathers a spare blanket from the closet and drapes it over her small frame. She drowns in it. He smiles. She’s mine…, he thinks as he beholds her. She snuffles a soft little sigh in her sleep and it’s almost too much. He wants her now. He chokes back a possessive growl as his brain buzzes with the euphoria of having her here-all to himself. He dips down to breathe her in. Petrol and vanilla frosting. Delicious….  
He slips back into his room and finishes his routine. He crawls into bed and sleeps for the first time in years.


	3. Awaken

A modulated voice rings static in her ear. She bolts awake. It takes her a moment to remember where she is. Black leather creaks under her thighs. White light glints off of the slick black tile floor. She squints before the mortifying memories of her rash behavior the previous night hit her…of Grand Marshall Armitage Hux eating out of her palm.  
She rubs her hands as her cheeks burn. A static laced cough catches her attention. She turns….  
A storm trooper is standing at the edge of the couch, waiting for her. As she sits up he shifts on his feet. He stands to attention. His modulated voice echos slightly as he speaks. He must have a wire loose in his helmet.  
“Ambassador Tico, you’re wanted on the bridge.”  
She rubs the sleep from her eyes, “Commander Tico actually,” she corrects.  
The trooper shrugs, “If you say so.”   
She stands and holds her wrists out begrudgingly to the faceless figure., “Fine, go ahead, lead the way.”  
He looks at her. His voice puzzled, “What are you doing?”  
It’s her turn for confusion. She shakes her wrist for emphasis, “Aren’t you going to cuff me?”   
He shakes his helmeted head and scoffs, “No why the kriff would I?” He catches himself and shuffles on his feet awkwardly, “Ack language…sorry uh…Commander.”  
She has to be dreaming. She pinches herself. Ouch. Okay so she’s not dreaming. Kriff.  
What the hell is happening?  
She shrugs her shoulders and sighs, “okay, no cuffs.” She moves towards the door. The trooper stays rooted behind her. He coughs a confused chuff of air, “Uh…are you going like that Commander?”  
Okay now this is really weird. She turns, “Yes? Is there a reason I wouldn’t?”  
The trooper gestures with a fisted thumb behind him towards the bed chamber.   
“The Grand Marshall said you would probably want to freshen up…uh you know since it’s going to be holo-vized.”  
Holo-vized….She files the information away. She’ll examine it later.   
She forces a smile and slips past the trooper to scurry into the bed chamber, “Riiight. I’ll be just a moment then.”  
The trooper visibly eases, “Take your time Commander.”   
The stark bed chamber is empty save for a continentally expansive dark wood bed in the center of the room. Sprawled across the edge of the bed is an elaborately embroidered tunic, sash, and pants. She doesn’t recognize the style or the motifs but it’s clearly old fashioned. Pre-Empire like something a beautiful young senator would wear to meet her secret Jedi lover in an old holo drama.   
She pauses as she reaches for the lush green silk. Her fingers are filthy. She had been trying to reprogram a mouse droid for communication access. She glances down at her reflection in the mirror slick tile. Her reflection is wobbled but clear. She looks awful.  
Her eyes scan the room and fall on the fresher door. She hasn’t used it since she got here. Mostly out of defiance at being forcefully ripped from everything she knows but also out of a small fear that he might walk in and see her exposed. Her stomach warms strangely at the thought. She unties her hair out of its twin buns and shakes it away.   
She was mid way through using the fresher when her ears perk at the sound of movement. A pneumatic door opening in the other room and the clatter of a man scrambling to stand in plasticine armor.   
“Grand Marshall!”   
A familiar lilt sends a tingling shiver down her spine, “At ease Lieutenant.”  
“The Commander is still getting ready sir.” She couldn’t help the half grin at the sound of her proper title.   
“Ambassador, Lieutenant,” the familiar Imperial accent corrects. Her frown straightens into a line of confusion. Why is he calling me that?  
The modulated voice sounds muffled and torn as she exits the fresher and dashes towards the bed.   
She can hear the Lieutenant’s confusion as she throws the tunic over her head, “but sir she!”  
Hux cuts him off as she’s fumbling with the silken pants, “is having a hard time transitioning.” She can hear the sound of his boots on the tile as he steps toward the door of the bedchamber. She stifles a gasp as the footsteps pause.   
She has just enough time to tie her hair back in a passable top knot when she hears him pause to address the Lieutenant,   
“On second thought, I will escort her myself, you may resume your duties.”  
The trooper muffles a static filled affirmative and the pneumatic doors whoosh open and closed once more. The door to the bedchamber creaks open. She steels herself as he steps through the door.   
Her heart hammers under his inspection. It takes but a moment. Like the night before he is upon her in an instant with hyperdrive intensity.   
“Forgive me,” he rasps grabbing her arm, “I wanted to wait but…”  
If he finished she doesn’t hear it. Her ears roar as he pulls her to him to meet her lips with his own. Her head crackles static where his large hand cradles the back of her head. His long fingers are tangling into her hair. She must have a screw loose too. She is malfunctioning. How else could she explain melting in his arms?  
His kiss is hot and heavy. Whatever it gives it takes. It steals her breath leaving her dizzy. She wants—a low growl rumbles from the back of her throat. She claws, grasping a fistful of thick red hair. He purrs into her mouth. His hand slipping down to explore her under her shirt. She wants— She is almost kissing him back when her circuits realign and slam the door to her desire.   
She pulls him off her. His mouth disengaging with her own with a salacious sounding pop. His hooded eyes are glazed decadently with lust. She swallows and summons the fire pooling in her belly up to her throat. Turns it into anger where it belongs.   
“How dare you!” She bites.   
He grins lazily, almost drunkenly, and sets her down gently. He detaches with a obnoxiously sensual lick of his lips.   
She fumes, “I am not your plaything.”  
His face flattens into neutrality, “It seems I overstepped.”  
She grabs the front of her tunic, “I am not a doll for you to play dress up with.”   
His face falls almost comically. He looks like a wounded dog, “Do you not like it?”  
She huffs, “It doesn’t matter if I like it Army, you can’t just yank me around and not tell me anything. I’m not one of your soldiers!”  
He grins wolfishly. Too late she realizes her mistake.   
“Tooka…,” he soothes. No! No no no. Her palm sweats with the fantom tactile memory of her hand being held in the hot humidity of a jungle planet. He doesn’t get to just slip back into it like that.   
“Don’t call me that,” she snaps, “and tell me what the hell is going on—Grand Marshall.”  
He frowns at the sound of his title. Disappointment flits across his face before he rearranges it back into something blank and professional.   
“Fine—Commander.”  
He steps out of her space and out of the bed chamber. He doesn’t beckon or make any indication for her to follow but she does. She knows him well. How he slows his steps when he thinks she’s fallen too far behind. How he waits for her to catch up before rounding corners. They travel through the bowels of the ship this way in silence.   
Its not till they reach the expanse of the bridge that she feels the cold chill of the floor against her bare feet. She looks down. She forgot to wear shoes.   
He doesn’t seem to notice. He reaches back to take her hand and leads her genteelly across the room toward the stretch of stars that splays across the viewports. He pulls out a chair for her and settles her in it as if she were a queen. Around the room are a ship’s worth of crisply clad officers. They’re standing to attention looking straight ahead but she can feel them eyeing her out of their peripherals.   
“Transmission on screen,” He commands. She can feel the heat of his hand on the backrest of her chair.   
Her friend and superior, General Poe Dameron, flickers to incandescent blue life across the viewport screens. His golden eyes are hard as they stare at Hux through the screen even though the rest of his face is lazily arranged in a cocky half grin.   
“Evening Hugs, called to surrender?” He quips looking please with himself.   
She felt rather than saw the roll of the Grand Marshall’s pale eyes.   
“Not quite,” he sniffs, “but you’re getting warmer.”   
Poe scoffs, “so you want me to surrender. Not happening pal.”  
Hux grips the edge of the chair harder and leans forward. She can almost feel his chest against her back. She can smell his cologne. Sandalwood.   
He smirks at the screen, “I’m proposing a ceasefire.”  
Poe’s jaw drops. He presses a button below screen and turns, now silent, in his seat to wave inaudibly at someone unseen. Probably Kaydel or Finn if she had to guess. The three are inseparable.   
She tries not to feel bitter as she watches her superior flail. Poe was a good leader and had been a good friend. It was just hard to be both. If they hadn’t left her behind during the transition—no that wasn’t fair. She had agreed after all. She could have refused or begged them to bring her along and they would have let her play pretend at being a scout on the new planet. They needed her to lead the rear. Make sure no one got left behind. That was what she was good at even if it meant she herself got forgotten. Even if it meant she was stolen away.   
She sneaks a glance at the man beside her. His predatory eyes flit to meet her own for a moment before they return to the screen. His ring finger breaks rank from its position on the back of the chair to give her shoulder a possessive little tap. She flushes and readjusts her posture.   
He never forgets.  
Poe turns back to the screen and reengages the audio, “How long would this thing last…if we were interested?”  
Hux white teeth flash as he replies, “Permanently.”  
She hears a delicate gasp on the audio. Kaydel is definitely there.   
A male voice sneers, “He’s lying.” Ah Finn. He’s learned to be skeptical since their first mission on Canto Bight. Sometimes she misses who he was before. It’s too much to ask after Rey. Grief has hardened him.   
Hux shakes his head empathically, “I am not lying. We are proposing an armistice.”  
He reaches to tap a command out on the console in front of them.   
“Here are our terms,” the audio blips with the sounds of old Rebellion equipment chirping to life. Poe’s eyes widen.   
“If you would like to negotiate the specifics we can arrange a treaty hearing in the neutral zone we have specified on the attached map,” Hux gestures idly with his hand as Poe scans the charts appearing before him.   
General Dameron looks up. His eyes finally register her. He frowns, “What about Rose?”  
The grip on the back of her seat tightens. Hux immediately snaps, “Ambassador Tico will be remaining on the ship as a term of the ceasefire. She will serve as ample representation of your interests.”   
Poe’s eyes widen with her own, “Ambassador is a funny way of saying hostage Hugs…”  
Hux practically spits at the screen, “She is and will remain our guest.”  
He has the decency to at least look reluctant before he gives a quick nod of his head, “Fine we agree to an armistice. We’ll send you the information when we’re ready to talk.”  
Hux steps back, “Excellent.” He turns, “End Transmission.”


	4. Fume

Rose is still fuming hours later in his stupidly spacious room as he sits, feet propped up on the caf table, reading something insipid on his asinine holo screen.   
“What is wrong with you?”   
Hux flicks his eyes up in acknowledgment before returning them nonchalantly towards the screen.   
“The war is over. Isn’t that what you wanted?”  
She grips the back of the couch. Her white knuckles clash against the black leather as she trembles, “I wanted freedom, not to be bought and sold for half a galaxy.” She lashes out and grabs a handful of his hair, forcing his head back to look at her, “I’m not your whore Hux.”  
He grins a flash of white teeth.She can see that the thought amuses him. She wants to slap the look off his face. His exposed Adam’s apple bobs as he speaks, “A small price to pay.”  
She shoves him away and moves towards the door, “Well too bad. I’m leaving anyway.”  
“No.”  
She ignores him and slams the key code into the lock pad. It buzzes an angry red.   
He changed the lock. “You changed the lock.”  
He stands and sets the pad on the table, “I wanted to talk.”  
She punches the door, “No you wanted to control.”  
His hand lands on her shoulder. She slaps it away.  
“Tooka…please.”  
She slaps him across the face, “I’m not your pet!” She seethes. Even now he’s trying to manipulate her. Using her old call name and pretending like they’re still on the same side—as if they ever were. Hot tears flood her eyes.   
“I’m done Armitage,”   
His breath catches at the sound of his name. The tears spill over her cheeks, “I can’t do this with you anymore. This—whatever it is we’re doing. I don’t want it.. I’m done okay? I’m not anything to you.”  
He maneuvers himself between her and the door, “Rose, no, you’re—”  
She’s sobbing now, “You don’t love me.”   
His hand catches her chin, “You’re right I don’t.”  
Her blood runs cold at the words. She doesn’t even feel his hands move to cup her cheeks as she hiccups.   
He pulls her in and kisses her. It’s the most delicate gentle touch he’s ever given her. She sobs into the kiss. He kisses her again until she stills and leans his forehead against her own.  
“I don’t love you.” His arm holds her to him when she attempts to pull away. His eyes close, “Love is too flimsy a word. It’s not enough for what you’ve done to me.” He kisses the tears from her cheeks, “or for what I intend to do to you.”   
She sniffles. A snuffled cry whines from her mouth. He answers the question it contains.  
“I’m planning an invasion of your waking thoughts—your dreams.” He lowers the hand from her chin to tap her chest, “I will seize the beating of your heart.”  
His eyes open and lock with her own, “I will keep you….”  
He kisses her with eyes open,”…and I intend to have you…in every possible way.”


	5. Lesson

It’s been a week since he kissed her, not that he’s been counting, and his Rose has refused to leave the separate room she has insisted upon. He swallows a snarl as he knocks back the electro stick hurtling towards his head. Blast it all!  
The captain he’s sparring with, Laason, sticks a chrome plated leg out to sweep his own. He quickly dodges and lands a quick jab to the lower sternum. A modulated chuff of pain echos through the practice hall, “Good one sir.”  
He grits his teeth at the praise. Laason has become cocky since his promotion…and careless.   
They trade blows until he’s shimmering with sweat and his breath runs ragged. Laason goes in for the kill—a round house kick to the chest and he takes the blow. He allows himself to skid across the floor.   
Laason is extends a silver hand. He takes it.   
The captain laughs as he pulls him up, “better luck next time Marshall.”  
He doesn’t wait to strike. As soon as he is on his feet he lashes out viper like to deliver his own kick—to the face. His foot connects cleanly with the captain’s helmet and sends him crumpling to the floor.  
Laason rips the helmet from his head and swears, “You son of a…”  
He doesn’t gloat, “If you have time to preen Captain, I have time to strike, remember that.”  
Laason’s tan face winces as he holds his ear. Blood is trickling from the wound, “Yes sir.”   
Satisfied that his subordinates has internalized the lesson he turns. His feet carry him down the hall. His hand tingles as he pulls his gloves back on. I learned that lesson from her after all….  
His mind drifts back to The Supremacy.Back to the day he met her. He had gloated and paid the price. She had sunk her teeth into his hand and thoroughly surprised him. It was in that moment of shock that he had fallen deeper than in love with her. He had only to lock eyes with that vicious feral girl and he had been instantly captivated. She had eyes just as ferocious as his own. Vengeful wild eyes ready to kill him. She would rip him to shred if she got the chance. He couldn’t look away from them. From the dangerous eyes that consumed him. Eyes that made him want her. Fiercely   
He had played spy to get her. He had said it was to doom Kylo Ren, an easy lie since the man was so universally insufferable, but he had really done it for her. To have some semblance of a connection with the girl. He had never met another of his own kind before. He wanted to see her again. He wanted to speak with her. He wanted her to look at him.   
What fortune that she had been the very first rebel he had made contact with…  
…but now she wouldn’t even speak to him. After he had done everything she could possibly have wanted.   
He is entering the lift when he is joined by General Dimir. She’s one of the old guard from his father’s days but flexible. Quick to adapt. He has trusted her judgement multiple times.   
He clears his throat, “General if you have a moment I was wondering if I could get your advice—on a personal matter?”  
Her grey eyebrow lifts. A wry smile graces her lined face. She doesn’t hide her amusement. Why should she? She’s old enough to be his grandmother.   
She readjusts the papers she’s holding and shrugs, “Why not? The delta deck is a ways down. I should have a minute.”  
He pulls at his gloves, “How would you open negotiations with someone who refuses to speak to you?”  
The General chuckles, “Oh is the little Ambassador giving you the silent treatment?”  
He blushes. She scoffs, “Come now Marshall, I won’t tell.”  
He coughs, “Yes.”  
She smiles. Her teeth are slightly yellow with age, “It’s a good tactic to use when you’re not getting your way.”   
He frowns, “Haven’t I been generous?”  
She shrugs, “I don’t know have you? Clearly she’s not satisfied with what she’s received.” The lift chimes. Her stop is soon arriving. “What should I do?” He asks.   
The door to the lift opens, he holds it open for her. It may give her more time to answer. She doesn’t spare him. “Can’t help you there. You’ll have to figure it out.”   
She leaves him in the lift, “Best of luck Marshall.”  
Fabulous. What is he supposed to do now?


	6. Memories

He is invading her dreams. This is nothing new. He’s been a frequent conquerer of her nights since he left. Mostly it’s the memories.   
The first night they met. Truly met, not that ghastly business on The Supremacy, is usually how it begins. She is standing on the outskirts of a village on Tatooine, she can never remember the name, when his scout ship lands. She braces herself as the hatch opens and the ramp descends. The moment she sees his face as the dust clears her vision goes red with anger.   
“You snake!” She shouts. Then he does something wholly unexpected. The damn man smiles at her and laughs.  
What catches her off guard isn’t that he does it but how he looks doing it. He looks boyish and almost innocent. Sweet as he’s doubled over on the edge of the ramp. He throws his head back and she can see the white flash of his teeth in the sunset. He’s gorgeous.   
He collects himself and walks to her, “Of course it would be you.” There’s a twinkle in his eye as he takes her hand from her side and shakes it. A jolt of electric something shoots up her arm at the touch. She is flushing sweet-beet red.   
He’s oh so professional it makes her head spin. The data transfers like a dream. He is shaking her hand again, saying what a pleasure it is to have made her acquaintance, how he looks forward to a long partnership, and he’s gone. All that’s left is dust and the lingering sensation of warm leather on her hand.   
The second time she gets a little more out of him and on the third even more. After that the meetings start to blur in her memory. A hyperspace blur of genteel smiles and gracious politeness. The moments that catch in the crevices of her mind and stick are the times when he is playful. When he is a bit boyish, almost impish, and takes liberties.   
They’re sitting on the edge of a dense forest going over schematics. He looks tired. He is still sitting straight, posture perfect, but there are dark circles blooming purple under his eyes.   
“You can rest a bit if you want.” She offers, “ We have time while the data transfers.”  
His eyes have a hint of green in them when the light hits as he turns towards her, “How do I know you won’t run off with my equipment?”  
She cringes. Oh..of course…so stupid, “R-right.”   
His lips purse for a moment and suddenly he flops down onto her lap. He nestles in like her grandmother’s tooka kit used to do when she was a child and closes his eyes, “There, now you can’t go anywhere.”   
His head is heavy on her lap. Her face burns through the rest of the data transfer. She doesn’t wake him when it done. She just watches the way the light plays off his copper hair as he sleeps. The moment feels rare and singular. It’s why she revisits it so often in her dreams. This is how she always wakes up. With forest sun filtering into the harsh light of day and the phantom pressure of his head nestled against her leg.   
There is a light rap on her door. She has no desire to get up and answer. She groans and speaks into the room, “Allow Entry.”  
The whoosh of the door sounds and the light padding tap of books strides towards the bed. She looks through squinted eyes at the figure who is now haunting the side of her bed. It’s Hux….  
Her lip curls in disgust, “You look like nerf shit.”  
He clearly hasn’t slept. Judging by the slightly increased gauntness of his face hasn’t eaten either. She rolls over and reaches into the small drawer of a nightstand. She stashed some ration bars there when she first barricaded herself inside but that was before she learned the First Order mess hall delivered to dignitaries. She has had hot meals ever since.   
She holds the bar out to him, “Here.”   
He looks down at the bar and winces. He doesn’t take it. His stomach growls but he ignores it.   
She sighs and unwraps the bar before holding it out to him again, “Eat.”  
He obeys, dipping his head down to bite half the bar from her hand. He chews looking relieved. She’ll never quite understand this man who insist on having his way while playing obedience. Does he want her to follow or rule him?   
She lets him finish the bar from her hand, “What do you want?”  
He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a small holo-pad, “I have something for you.” He offers it to her, “Here.”  
She takes the pad from him and sits up in the bed to scroll through it. There are blueprints and charts. Entire entries with test results and schematics, “Is this?”  
He nods, “It’s everything and it’s your’s.”  
Her jaw drops. He has just handed her his life’s work. Everything on Starkiller, the monstrous device that obliterated her home and an irreplaceable chunk of the galaxy. The First Order’s greatest weapon. She doesn’t know what to say, “Why are you giving this to me?”  
He looks down at his feet, “The First Order has more. I thought you should know and….”  
Her eyes widen at the knowledge. More Starkillers—!  
“And?” She’s gripping the pad now.   
He smiles wistfully, “and I thought of how good you are at fixing things. I hoped you could fix this too.”  
She frowns, “I can’t make it any deadlier Hux.”  
He shakes his head appalled, “Stars! No I’m not asking you to.” He smooths out the blanket on the foot of the bed and sits. He is taking liberties again, “A Starkiller is still a functional planet. I was hoping you could find some kind of—peaceful alternative for them.”   
Her grip relaxes, “Really?”  
He nods, “Of course.”  
She’s never worked on this large a scale. She has tinkered with dozens of ships, even dreadnoughts, but an entire planet? “I don’t know what to say,” she whispers.   
He flops back to sprawl across the foot of the bed and sighs, “That’s a pity.” He rolls on his side to look at her, “I was hoping you would talk to me again.”   
She pulls her knees up to her chest and rests her chin on them, “I could have, maybe, if you had come back.”  
He chuckles softly. His eyes are sad, “You’re such a sweet girl.” He traces the quilting of the blanket with his finger, “ You know that don’t you?”  
She has heard those words before. He said them the night he left.   
She squeezes her eyes shut. It’s the one memory she doesn’t want to remember but it’s inescapable. It flashes behind her eyes like the lighting from that night. That horrible heartbreaking night.   
She can see it all. Feel it all.  
How the twigs snap under her feet like little bones as she runs towards the ship. How his back looks through his shirt soaked with rain. How warm he is despite it all as she grabs his arm.   
“Why are you doing this?” She is shouting. The wind howls around them. He doesn’t have to go back. He can stay here with her where it’s safe.   
His hands cup her face, “I’ll come back f—”   
Lighting cracks across the sky followed by a rippling clap of thunder.   
…to you…she thinks. She knows that’s what he said even if the sky drowns him out, “You have to! Promise me Armie!”   
He nods, “I promise.”  
It will have to be enough…but it’s not. Her eyes brim with tears, “Don’t go!” She pleads.  
He has tears of his own, “I was hoping you would ask me that.”   
He dips down and kisses her fiercely. It almost hurts, how he kisses her, but she throws herself into it because of how final it feels. It feels like a goodbye. She doesn’t want it to be. She sobs into his mouth.   
She clings to him as he plants a kiss on the four corner of her face and looks at her. Really truly looks at her—like he loves her, “You’re such a sweet girl…you know that don’t you?”  
With that he pulls himself from her…and then he is gone.   
Her eyes flutter open, brimming with fresh tears. He scrambles to her scooping her into his arms.   
She cries, really cries, for the first time in how long? She lets the pad fall from her fingers.   
“I don’t want a stupid planet Armie,”she whispers between hiccups, “I wanted you to come back to me.”  
She can feel his breath catch. She curls herself in. Nuzzles the shell of his collar bone and lets him hold her. His arms tighten just the way she has always liked, “You promised,”she sighs against his chest, “Why didn’t you keep it? Why didn’t you come back to me?”   
“I did—I came back for you,” his voice rumbles against her hair.   
For…he came back for me.   
It suddenly clicks like an unstuck gear in her mind. A tiny little epiphany. It’s not that he cannot decide between the two. Between obeying and her obedience. He wants both. He wants to keep her safe in this little cage that he lives in so she can care for him. This is what happens when you raise a wild thing somewhere small. Would he want her still if she had kept him free and had seen the world? If he didn’t want her anymore…the thought makes her mouth run dry.   
He is waiting for her she realizes. She needs to make a choice. Will he want her? Does it matter? She can do one of two things. She can chain herself into being used as leverage against this man for the rest of her days or she can take what she wants from the pretty man while she still can. She can set them both free. Him from his little cage and her from a lifetime of wondering. It’s an easy choice. She rests her hand on his own. He doesn’t move.   
“Will you stay with me tonight,” she asks.  
His hand moves to curl around her own, “I was hoping you would ask me that.”


	7. Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where the NSFW starts

He wills himself to remain still as she rises from the bed to make them tea. He wants to push her down right there and—but he restrains himself. He is already so so lucky to be where he is perched on the foot of her bed. In her bed! A place he has been fantasizing about for weeks.   
She brings two steaming cups and hands one to him, “It’s herbal. To help you rest.”  
He takes it from her but doesn’t raise it to his lips. He doesn’t want to rest.   
She takes a sip from her own. He tries not to frown. Blast!  
“Thank you for coming to see me,” she demurs.   
He can feel heat blooming on the tips of his ears and low in his stomach, “Not at all, thank you for receiving me.” His voice dips the wrong way as he says it and it sounds salacious…like he wants her to receive more than his company. Which he does but—urgh! His face is so flushed he fears he will evaporate.   
She places her small hand on his thigh, “Relax, I won’t bite.”  
If only…He takes a long draw of tea. It’s good. Calming…  
“I lied to you,” He blurts.   
Her head tilts, “Did you?”  
He sets his tea down on the nightstand, “Yes…,” He reaches for her cup and she lets him take it from her to set it down by his own. He takes her hands in his.   
“I do love you,” He gives her hands a squeeze, “and more…a lot more but no less.”  
She laughs like falling leaves, “So you don’t less than love me?” She asks.   
He nods, “Exactly.”   
She grins wolfishly up at him, “Good,” she laughs, “That makes this easier.” He frowns. He doesn’t understand what she means until her lips collide with his own…oh….Oh! She was kissing him!  
He greedily reciprocates. His hands leave her’s to twine in her hair. It’s soft just like her lips. He can’t get enough of either.   
Her hands slide up his shirt and tug. They fumble until they find the fastener at his collar. He gasps into her mouth as her clever little hands slip under to connect with his chest. Her fingers are slightly calloused and the sweet friction of them sends a shiver down past his stomach. He’s beginning to feel light headed.   
He changes tactics and dips his head down to taste the nape of her neck. He swirls his tongue over the spot where her pulse flutters. A beautiful little mewl sounds in his ears. Her fingers dig deliciously into his chest. He explores as far down as he dares. Lower…lower….  
He is nipping at the shell of her collar bone when she shoves him back and more until he’s flat on his back with her hands pinning down his chest.   
She grins wicked sweet and takes his nipple into her mouth. He swears and his hands search until they return to the silky softness of her hair. He sighs as his hands run through it and the feel of her runs through him. It’s pure euphoria.   
“You beautiful girl,” Praise falls effortlessly from his lips. She purrs and latches her lips to a tender spot on his abdomen to suck a bruise into his skin. A moan grumbles from his throat.   
“Do you like that?” She teases. Like she needs to ask…the minx.  
His lungs expand as he tries to oxygenate the dizziness so he can look at her, “Yes! Stars! Yes!”  
She slips a falling strand of night black hair behind the shell of her ear, “Good.”  
She undoes the clasp of his pants. She is going to see! He jerks up but it’s too late. His raging erection springs up eagerly. He face burns as he falls defeated to rest on his elbows.   
She’ll be the death of me….


	8. Consummate

Oh boy…He is a lot bigger than she anticipated. She gulps as she looks at the rod protruding angrily from his pants. She sneaks a peek at his face. It is redder than his hair. His eyes are squeezed shut. It’s a little bit adorable how nervous he is.   
Alright let’s be brave…she thinks and wraps her hand around the shaft. It’s warm and velvet soft. She strokes it thoughtlessly. He swears and places a hand on her shoulder to brace himself.   
She grins and does it again. A soft cry of pleasure erupts from his lips. If he likes that so much then maybe? She brings her lips down and kisses the tip. The strangled noise he makes thrills her to the core. Enough for her to take him into her mouth. His hips buck sending his member down into the back of her throat. She chokes coughing.  
He leaps up in a panic, “Sorry! Are you alright.”  
She takes a deep breath. He’s rubbing soft reassuring circles into the small of her back. “I’m fine,” she reassures, “Just surprised.”  
She looks down. He’s still rock hard. “I could try again?” She offers.  
He leans and plants a kiss on her cheek. “Maybe I could give it a go?” He asks softly.  
Her cheeks warm, “Alright.”   
She isn’t sure where to look but luckily he doesn’t leave her hanging for two long. He kisses her long and deep. Heat pools in her stomach as his tongue explores. His hands skim up and down her sides. It’s ticklish and a little—a lot arousing. Especially when he reaches up and cups her breasts. Doubly so when his thumb massages a slow circle around her nipple.   
“I’m going to take this off,” he rasps before stripping her of her skirt. His mouth replaces his thumb and she sees stars. She clutches his hair.   
He laughs into her breast, “Now you know how I felt, you cheeky minx.”  
She huffs, “You liked it.”  
He hums as he sucks. His lips release with a pop, “I did.”  
It feels really good what he’s doing but it’s not enough, “I want more Armie.”  
In response he hooks his thumbs under the waistband of her pants and pulls, “More what?”  
And he thinks I’m a tease….She wraps her legs around his waist as her pants slip to the floor.   
“I want to feel more,” she purrs. His cock is rubbing against her entrance now. She whimpers.   
He shifts his hips until the tip of him is lined with her entrance, “More of this?” He croons.   
She nods. He clicks his tongue, “I need you to say it.”  
She snarls and bites his shoulder. She bucks her hips forward. He shifts and she misses. He chuckles low in her ear, “Say it.”  
So frustrating…, “Fuck me Armitage,” she growls.   
“Good girl.” He sheaths himself up to the hilt. She cries his name.   
He pierces in and out of her. She can’t help but cry out. Praise his name and spew dirty filthy things she’ll never repeat. He’s grunting out her name. Gasping out how much of a good girl she is, how pretty, how wonderful and how much he loves her.   
“You’re mine yeah?” He raps into her ear, “Aren’t you my Rose?”  
She’ll say whatever he wants as long as he keeps hitting that spot that makes her eyes blur. “Yes just your’s,” she mews, “Only your’s.”  
He is moving in rough short thrust now. She’s getting close.   
“Just mine,” he growls, “All mine.”   
She peaks clenching. He sings her name and spurts filling her deep inside. It sends a ripple of pleasure up her that leaves her panting.  
“Don’t pull out,” she pleads when he goes to move, “I want to feel you in me a little longer.”  
He obliges and touches her forehead with his own. They stay like that for a moment before it ends and he slips out of her.   
“Can I hold you?” He asks after. She nods and he climbs into the bed to curl around her. She pulls the blanket over them and settles in. It feels warm and safe to have him pressed against her. Relaxed she lets her eyes close and drifts to sleep.


	9. Bliss

It’s bliss having her asleep in his arms. She is warm and soft against him. He fights the comfortable drowsiness that threatens to overtake him. He wants to enjoy her just a bit longer.   
He plants a feather soft kiss against her shoulder and she mews sweetly in her sleep. A jolt of heat sears through him at the sound. He’ll need to restrain himself. As tempting as she is to do more than that while she is sleeping would be unfair. Besides he likes it all the more when her eyes are open and watching him. He growls out a purring sound at the fresh memories. He could wake her up now and have his way with her again. His arms tighten around her and he is about to nip her ear when his eyes fall on the data pad on the nightstand. It’ll be the first thing she’ll reach for in the morning. She’ll want to work…and he wants to let her. She’s going to do so many amazing things—his Rose.   
He loosens his grip and lets his head rest on the pillow beside her. His hands reach up to stroke her hair. This is how he falls asleep and he sleeps deep dreaming of all the beautiful future she will make.


	10. 500 years later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cute epilogue

The two children sprint up the dirt path towards the adobe complex sitting on the edge of the horizon. The little girl, who just turned seven and a half this rotation thank you very much, trips on the untied lacing of her boot and stumbles into the sand. The older girl’s long black braids swing as she runs back to help her friend up.   
“Canta come on we’re going to be late!” She chides.  
The younger girl pouts as she’s hauled to her feet, “I don’t get why you’re so excited about another boring old history lesson Kiita.”   
The older girl huffs, “Because it’s Founders week Canta and we’re learning about Rose!”  
The younger girl huffs as she walks, “My mama says that is just a fairytale and it didn’t happen.”  
Kiita turns as she runs and sticks her tongue out at her friend, “That’s because your mama is a stick in the sand.”   
She whoops as she reaches the gates of the school and grabs her friends hand to pull her along.   
“You’re going to love it Canta! It’s so romantic. They fall in love and unite the galaxy!” She squeals.  
Canta rolls her eyes as she is dragged along, “Sounds mushy. Besides I heard that the Hux guy was super ugly.”  
Kiita baps her on the back of the head, “He was not. I saw a holo at the capital museum last Sun Cycle Day.”  
Canta rubs her head and frowns, “And you didn’t even get me a present….”  
The girls scamper down the hallways towards their classroom.   
“I said I was sorry,” Kiita rushes as she scrambles through the door, “I’ll take you next time.”  
“You better,” Canta grumbles.  
Their teacher clicks her tongue as they rush to their seats, “Punctuality is a virtue we must cultivate ladies.”  
The girls apologize in unison and flop into their seats.   
The teacher’s voice sounds throughout the room. The children all lean forward eagerly.  
“Today we will be starting with the first Founders Armitage and Rose.”


End file.
